Bruce- Finding the Way
by Dan Victor X
Summary: There will be subtle as well as explicit differences from canon as per the author's take on the characters. A Lengthy story in the making. A Psychological thriller. Bruce wakes up in an unknown place. He's unsure of how he got there or why? As he progresses he finds some unnatural companions. Will he able to solve the mystery of where it all began?
1. Chapter 1-The Beginning of Everything

_Oh God! _

Bruce felt pain, a headache so excruciating that he uttered those words. He couldn't remember the last time he did so, even in his countless brushes with death. It was for sure before his life turned upside down; when the world revealed how damned and hopeless existence really is. The cursed night that night when he saw his parent's chuckle for the last time, that night taught him that if a creator really exists then he is by no means merciful. He realized that the very God who gave him the blessings of a caring family took it away in a span of seconds. As sound of two gun shots pierced through his ear drums, it was all over.

And that night he took a vow not to call for God again. He cried that night, praying, hoping that the sight he saw, the pure and innocent blood he saw spilled across the filthy streets of Gotham was a nightmare, like the kind of nightmares his mother would dispel with her parables from far off lands. But there were no monsters this time, only darkness, emptiness, pure and devastating in its entirety. Those gunshots caused the Bats hanging in the dark sideways to swarm at him. That's when Bruce fainted. The ten-year old died in that alley. But the fear, paranoia in Bruce lived; As the Creature of the night.

As awareness crept across his lying body, the pain in his head subtly revealed itself. The head splitting pain was beyond measure that Bruce for instant wished that it was not real and this was just a bad dream and so he kept his eyes closed. He felt strange. He knew refusing to accept the reality was never his way of things. But this; the pain was paralyzing his thought and body and he wanted it to stop.

_Where am I?_

He raised his body and brushed of the dirt kissing his cheeks with the sleeves of his ruined tuxedo. The pain subsided a bit to a manageable level as he sat upright on the ground. This wasn't the first time Bruce got head trauma and that's why he knew very well this headache was not a physical one. But surprisingly he couldn't remember a specific situation to confirm the knowledge. Given the unusual lonely circumstance he decided to shelve off his paranoia and study the cause of pain and to learn abut this dark alley he is in.

He checked for blood stains and any lumps at his skull. He couldn't spot anything indicating blunt force attack. Physical pain can be endured; has been endured before but this; this is different, he knew it. More like death trying to invade the very soul. Now that his body was a bit relaxed, he x-rayed his surroundings. He again felt something odd, he couldn't pinpoint what. It was typical Gotham alleyway with rags and all sorts of trash piling in the sides and rodents living off it. The street light, one of the distant ones wasn't working. All the visible areas looked predictable with no suspicious presence. He couldn't squeeze out an answer. Well this was now a bit alarming for Bruce. He was the one who keeps the balance in Gotham. Although there are people who take care, it's never enough. He couldn't allow an excuse for himself. He had to find an answer.

As thoughts consummated what was left of his processing faculties a cat emerged from the shadows. He couldn't see the figure so clearly. Yet the two glowing eyes were enough for him to identify the pussy. The cat stared into his eyes for a second or maybe a bit longer. This was certainly odd. Alleyway cats never stay; they run. They are never pampered; they are chased by the estranged souls living in the dirty slums and thugs who live off the dark corners. The local goons always harass and extort these people. There is no reason this murderous psychopaths shouldn't harm those harmless creatures. The cat purred slowly as if straining to tell something. Bruce felt certain strangeness in the composition of the situation itself, like it was a bit darker than usual; he couldn't pinpoint it for his frustration. He could tell for sure either he was not OK or something is definitely wrong with this place.

Bruce stood up and walked in the other side dejecting the only living thing around. He wanted to know where he was and how he was there. But he heard a movement from behind. The Cat climbed up the heap of trash on the sideways and stood on top of the crash cans almost as if demanding his attention. The intensity of the cats look was compelling almost human like, eliciting a call from the very conscience buried within. Again given the strange circumstances, he had no reasons to abandon this cat. He took the cat in his arms, gave a pat, smiled a bit faint. He wished he could smile a bit more had not the pain still nagged him. He proceeded forward and so did the cat.

As they neared the broken streetlight air started getting colder and a strange pungent smell caused him to cover his chin. It was almost like an aura covering them as they advanced challenging their course forward. The cat gave a growl into the empty darkness as though marking an adversary. As it went pitch black the duo still walked with the occasional noises from his companion as if doubting the path they had taken. But for Bruce it was an assurance that the cat still accompanied him and he couldn't confirm for himself in the growing thick of darkness. As he walked and placed his left food, he almost stumbled. His leg has caught up on something and he felt as if somebody was lying there. In the darkness his hands went for the ground. He caught a hand. The body was icy cold. A strange sense of terror went through him.

_Who could it be? _

He tried running his hands along the dress hair and legs. Short hair, a suit and pants, but the attire felt familiar, a bit too familiar. He caught another hand now. It had a bangle. From the palm he went onto the shoulder, trying to find the face. But his index finger caught on a necklace. He rubbed the contours.. felt as if they were pearls. Now he couldn't deny it any longer. It was his parents. No darkness can shield him from the picture that was etched in his mind, his soul, that night in the crude alleyway. And he was overcome with an overwhelming impulse to a loud breakdown, louder than he thought he could do. But what came of his throat was the shivering sobbing of a ten year old child who became an orphan on a midnight alleyway.


	2. Chapter 2- The Journey to Present

What is human life about? A fundamental question philosophers ponder in their loneliness. But Bruce never found occasion to think such abstract thoughts as he never felt or even learned what loneliness is until he lost his parents; thereafter existence itself became tormenting and he pondered on these topics trying to justify universe's machinations, hoping to distant himself from pain by intellectual discourse, filling every inch of his conscious and sub conscious with it, just so that he could ease his pain. Learn he did, almost everything from Plato, Aristotle, Kant, Descartes Hume, Locke, Rousseau, anything which could engage him with a compelling answer, compelling enough to calm his mind. When the standard books exhausted and didn't answer his questions enough, he turned to fiction, to see how characters deal with the existential crisis of magnanimous proportions even real human beings could struggle to cope with. The more he learned, the more restless he became as the true answer eluded him again and again, building the agony instead of extinguishing it atleast a bit. Bruce's intellectual path alarmed Alfred as he knew better that philosophy was the least appropriate way to channel the tender mind of a child. But soul of Bruce was long lost from the material world.

Alfred called Bruce one day near him, placed his palm on his shoulders and advised him to leave the books behind and socialise instead, told how much Thomas Wayne, his father, wanted him to focus on the real world, real problems, at Gotham. He told how much Thomas wanted Bruce to continue his work, build the city to prosperity and rid itself of all the curse it inherited from time unknown. But Bruce stunned Alfred with a question in response, "Why didn't he tell me then?" Bruce knew the answer as well as Alfred. There was so much his Father had to teach his son, so much to share and yet fate snatched both his guiding lights away. Each time Alfred tried to reason with the child, he grew more and more distant from him, as though Alfred is a trigger, a trigger for everything in past he is trying so desperately to bury. But Alfred knew no lecture could sway him because for the fate's cruel mischief there is simply nothing to solace an intuitive child. Nothing; but yet persisted the mature butler for Alfred was now his mother and Father, he owed it to them to guide Bruce to find his destiny. But for that he needed the Bruce before the tragedy, the child who treated every single person with kindness and respect no matter how undeserving one may be, because he understood the nuances of the people; the simplicity of their frail hearts.

Alfred's talks didn't help in wearing out the child but only ironed his will. Now Bruce has shifted his attention from the Wayne manor library to the Gotham City Public library. No Wayne had to go before outside in search of a manuscript as most often books and manuscripts older than most libraries were to be found there. But Bruce's taste for knowledge has now changed from Western philosophy to something even more crude and complicated. Alfred only came to know of it when one morning he heard the sound of rain, however unlikely he thought it would be in a summer at midnight. He went to the balcony to check, he could hear the sound more clearly, of water gushing through some hole, assuring him that he wasn't imagining stuff. But there was no shred of an indication of showering visible in the ground below from the balcony above. He tossed his sideways hoping to find some explanation for all this, water oozing out of a crack in the wall came to his notice. Wayne manor being one of the oldest buildings in Gotham, constant patchwork was a thing of routine but it was beyond Alfred why rain in summer. As he marched upwards he saw water dripping through stairs, he hurried upwards to find Bruce chanting some tough poetic phrases and it was actually raining; the situation couldn't be any more stranger by virtue of the realization that it was raining only around where Bruce was standing, both of his hands were raised to the sky while he was chanting them and there were some geometrical figures drawn on the floor.

That moment Alfred realized that things are getting out of his hand and maybe he cannot help Bruce after all. Bruce was so focussed in chanting the words that nothing could enter his world from his shut eyes and rhythmic recital. Alfred went down the stairways more dejected than he could ever be. The situation was only getting worse with him spending hours and hours day in and day out studying Oriental texts and mythical works hoping to find some sort of retribution for the loss of his parents. The Butler couldn't stand the sight of his Master loosing himself in grief and madness. He left Wayne manor one day, unable to bear losing his protégé lose his mind and wandered away.

Bruce never noticed the absence of Alfred as his needs were met by maids meticulously arranged by the Butler beforehand. Alfred never intended to leave Bruce alone. Alfred hoped that if Bruce didn't care for his presence may be he will notice his absence. But Bruce was so immersed into this world of occult that the reality and the logical validity of his actions were of little consequence to the Boy genius. All that mattered to the child was bringing back his parents. Nothing caught his fancy except cracking this puzzle. Yes, he thought of it as a puzzle. Like the ones in the papers, some days it is harder, but put in the right dedication and it too can be brought to his knees. He was so sure that he could bring his parents back to life.

And once the study ended, he put the spells, toughest until now, into practise. One by one he casted the spells, cascaded them, did even one or two tricks of his own invention, now that he mastered the principles of the oriental ritualistic magic. He knew sounds were the key with perfect vocal control; a single strain in the voice could alter the very substance of the spell and could result in something else totally. So he did the whole practise with due care. As he expected after hours of chanting and preparation, he could summon a portal. He could see a flash of lighting and if the books are to be believed, he just had to enter into the flash of lighting to enter where it all began the alley where his parents were murdered. He was so relieved finally after months of punishing himself with the study, he would be able to just turn it all back by warning his parents beforehand and everything would go back to normal. His happiness knew no bounds and he called out for Alfred, he couldn't wait to share the good news. Finally he could come out of his penance and share his discovery; finally there was something to cheer about.

He called Alfred's name over and over again, he couldn't wait to share this joyous moment to Alfred. Bruce couldn't believe Alfred was not there. He ran through the halls, the ground floor to the top floor searching every single room to attic, corner, every single place Alfred could be. He even thought if Alfred was playing hide and seek to lure him out of the study, he occasionally does that because he knows full well Bruce was not one who shies away from a challenge, however childish it is, though he occasionally complains about being treated like a child. The Wayne manor offered a lovely view of the whole of Gotham in microcosm; such was the grandeur and expanse of the centuries old building. So he went to the rooftops but the man was nowhere to be seen, no trace at all. He even searched for the outhouses for he knew that Alfred has this habit of micro-managing the maids to the point of driving them crazy. He could have gone for such a visit. He ran around calling around the Wayne estate like a wild animal; went to stable, the car porch every single place he could think of. There was no response. Remembering Alfred ever leaving him for such a long time was not possible for the simple reason that it never happened. Bruce's anxiety transformed in a matter of seconds into fear and paranoia. He knew in the depths of his mind that if Alfred leaves him too he will plunge into insanity, and he was sure with his unique talents nothing could stop him. The trouble he caused as a child with his pranks drove dozen of maids to lose the job. It's only after he turned eight that empathy for others could be cultivated in him by his loving and indulging parents. His mind with his thousand gifts had always been a bit unbalanced, but there was always somebody to take care. A situation otherwise, he stopped thinking for the simple reason that it was best not to.

All the emotions he stored within the eternally deep well of his came out as he realized how much torment and pain he could have caused Alfred. In fact he saw Alfred promise his father and mother that he would never allow any harm to befall Bruce, as he hid behind the door as they talked once. It was Bruce's mischief that caused a Wayne store house to burn down as he experimented with chemicals and fire, curious to know what happened when combined. But time and time again, he caused mischief but Alfred was always there to save the day. He remembered in the final moments, his father called out his mother's name, tormented by the fact that he couldn't save her. He didn't call Bruce out, only gave a look to him, it was the kindest look a father could give his son in his final moments, a thousand advises, blessings everything distilled in to that very expression. That day he knew his parents died with atleast some peace because they knew Alfred will be there as long as Bruce needed him.

He went back to the Wayne Manor and thought again. It was simply impossible, the more he thought about it. Bruce knew Alfred so well that he knew that the man was simply incapable of leaving Young Bruce alone whatever be the cause. That left for only one other cause and now he was incapable of such thoughts. He couldn't even dare imagine any harm befalling upon his beloved butler. Now he knew the obvious answer to revert all these mishappenings, the only way and that was magic. But ancient Oriental magic was too potent a weapon to be used, it needed a mind rooted out of emotions and a body with no ailments as the voice needs to be unflinching and so do the mind. But now with the knowledge of Alfred's missing his mind was turbulent than ever. He even feared whether his body would collapse or if he would go insane after being incapable of taking in the pressure. After all he is just a ten year old orphan with the burden of intellect with its constant bickering, paranoia offered no reprieve to him.

However difficult the ritual of travelling is is, he knew in the depths of his heart that he could command his mind and body, especially for something this important. Travelling through portal is ten times tougher than summoning a portal which he actually did. He summoned all his energy, wisdom and started uttering the mantras. The six months of dedicated methodical practise finally played out as wordy thick syllables with unnatural preciseness came flowing out of a ten year old's mouth and the portal opened. But then he remembered. Tow days ago at four in the morning when Bruce was in the rooftop practising the mantras, Alfred came to the rooftop and only a silhouette of six feet tall man in a suit was visible in the moonlight. He couldn't stray his attention, he couldn't risk mispronouncing any mantra. But now his attention strayed as he remembered the vibrating shivering voice of Alfred; Yes he was crying. Since that ominous night of the death of Waynes, Alfred too was lost in many ways. He adored the pair like celestial beings and once they were dead, he was like moon which lost the earth. Totally lost. Bruce had Gordon and Lucius pouring in and solacing him in intervals, but poor Alfred the only solace of the old man was Bruce. His day began and ended in Bruce.

Bruce remembered how he has not seen him so much lost before. Even after knowing everything his conscience was too much overloaded, Bruce was about to burst. Then it happened. He uttered only one syllable wrong and now the damage was done. If he stopped in the middle, he would be consumed by the force summoned. Completing the mantra would make sure he stays alive no matter where the portal will take him. The portal took him in a flash and in a split second he was standing somewhere else.

It looked like an alleyway. It was very dark and he could see nothing much clearly. He couldn't even tell if something was in his way. The only thing he could see beyond the clutter of shadows was a light. It was very faint too making the darkness more ominous in the making. As he stood there, confused and what to make of this place he had descended,, he was paralysed to do anything even think at this strange and devilish alley, looks almost like straight out of horror movie playbook.

Then the light began to flicker and now his heart began to beat faster. Has he summoned himself to a personal hell? Bruce however had little option but to ignore the fear, it was after all his own actions which merited whatever he is about to receive, and after all there wasn't much left in the real world to go back. He went near the light. The visible area had a pavement paved with tiles of stone felt almost like it was a spotlight with darkness and shadows merging into each other everywhere else. Was this kind of a Joke? Or if all of this is real even ? He couldn't help but wonder at the improbability of such a setting. No place human beings have chosen to live was ever abandoned to such infesting darkness. Or is it an apocalyptic world he travelled into?

As thoughts of possibilities ravaged in his mind, he heard a cry suddenly. Although under the strange circumstances he should have chosen caution but the cry, the voice was somehow familiar to abandon in a whim, like it was too much personal to forget. He ran in the direction of the cry although the road ahead was impossible to see. After a few metres, suddenly the air got colder as though one suddenly opened a freezer. And he paced foot by foot alarmed by the change in environment. As he advanced, he could hear a suppressed sob. He ran in the direction of the sound producing ripples of echo reverberating across the walls from his footsteps. The sob suddenly stopped and as he tried to slow his pace tripped and fell on something. He heard a growl as if somebody was hurt.

"Who is it ?" asked Bruce.

"Who are you?" a very familiar sound asked in response, which sounded like a boy, like him.

Bruce felt puzzled. Bruce repeated "Who are you" hoping to extract a different response. But to his dismay the response was same as before. Bruce decided to trust his instinct- that the person is a familiar one and can be trusted, although nothing in this world could elicit any sort of assurance for him about anything.

"I am Bruce Wayne. Who are you?" he hoped the intitaive would be reciprocated with a fair response.

"I am Bruce Wayne. Why are you mirroring me?" came the voice from the darkness.

"I am not. Then why are you lying?"

"I am not. Ok, let's get to that street light, let it check for ourselves" finally an agreement . But Bruce was really confused trying to find how could it be possible.

"Okay, agreeable for me."

They reached under the street light and there stood two Bruce Wayne opposite each other under a flickering light in a world completely unknown to both of them.


End file.
